


Ever After

by seekingsquake



Category: The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Break Up, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6329881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekingsquake/pseuds/seekingsquake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It should have been inevitable, but somehow she still manages to get past his defences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ever After

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song Dearly Departed by Marianas Trench.
> 
> I haven't written anything in a while, and I struggled with this one a lot even though I feel like I shouldn't have. I'm posting it to be able to feel like I've been productive, but I may end up taking it down if I ultimately decide that it still needs work.

_ Hey Babe, it’s me. It’s, uh, October 3rd, around five am, and uh. We need to talk, probably. I’m going to come by after work, okay? I’ll see you tonight. Okay.  _

There’s a long pause, and then a slowly exhaled breath. 

_ Bye. _

Bruce listens to the silence that stretches out for a good couple of minutes before Betty finally hangs up and the answering machine beeps. It’s still dark even though the curtain over the kitchen window has been pulled back and the pilot light over the stove is flicked on. He stands over the sink and wipes a broad palm down his face, tries and fails to rub the anxious feeling out from under his skin. The kettle on the stove has been whistling for nearly a minute, but he makes no move to take it off the burner. The old fashioned clock that Betty hung by the door out to the patio tick tocks away, and the wind moans outside. He rubs his face and his shoulders slump ever so slowly and he isn’t aware of anything at all.

*

It’s a strange sort feeling, really, to be standing on the front deck of the house you live in and not know if you should knock on the door or just let yourself in. She ends up doing both; knocking three times in rapid succession before unlocking the door and stepping inside. The foyer light is off and Bruce’s sandals are kicked into the corner by the door instead of sitting in the shoe rack properly. She puts her own flats in the rack almost pointedly before catching the tension in her shoulders and the knot of anxiety in her chest and shaking herself loose. 

More than anything else in the world, she doesn’t want to fight with him.

She moves slowly down the hall and towards the kitchen, where the only visible light is glowing fluorescently through the threshold and spilling out onto the floor and against the back wall.

Bruce is seated at the tiny breakfast nook. His arms are crossed over his chest and his head is tipped back against the wall. There’s a plate of potato wedges off to his left, a half eaten apple just to his right, and a glass of water right in front of him. She thinks of the dinner she’d grabbed for herself on her way off campus, of the Subway sandwich she took two bites out of before abandoning on the back seat of her car. She wonders how they ever went from wanting to be around each other to needing the other person in order to remember how to function.

“Hi,” she murmurs softly from the hall, not yet able to step from the hardwood onto the kitchen tile. Not until his head jerks up and he looks at her with tired eyes. He’s sort of smiling though, and his voice only sounds a little rough when he speaks to her, and that’s invitation enough. She enters the room and sits on the bench beside him, and she grabs a potato wedge without looking at his face. It’s cold and powdery in her mouth, limp in her fingers. Her eyes itch.

*

“I didn’t hear you come in,” he tells her, and he curses the waver in his voice as she sits beside him and grabs a piece of potato off his plate. He watches her face contort as she chokes it down, waits for her to say something about how he should have just ordered in. She never says anything at all.

It’s the first time he’s seen her since she walked out a week ago, and it’s awkward and he’s got a black pit of dread forming in his gut, but he’s still happy that she’s here. His hand reaches up to wrap itself around her shoulder, the bone delicate under his palm and the fabric soft against his skin, and he second guesses himself for only a moment before thinking  _ fuck it  _ and leaving it there.

At his touch, she finally looks up at him.

“I’m not ready to talk about it yet,” she tells him firmly. “I thought I was, but I’m not. Can we just. I donno. Can we just leave it? For now?”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. If it were up to him, they’d never talk about it at all. He’ll take any postponement he can get. “Yeah, we can do that.”

She smiles at him softly before pushing a potato wedge off the edge of the plate. “Lets order a pizza.”

*

It feels like one of their first dates way back in college. They’re camped out on the living room floor watching a terrible movie about zombie beavers. There’s a box of pizza between them and they’re swigging wine straight from the bottle. When one of the girls who’d been previously mauled by a beaver puppet covered in fake blood developes buck teeth and a flat tail, Betty spits wine far enough for the drops to hit the TV screen. Bruce chokes on a piece of pineapple and slaps himself in the chest as Betty wheezes through her laughter, and he feels like he’s twenty two and should be studying for some exam or another. 

Once they’re good and drunk Betty fumbles with the stereo and they stumble through a slow dance to whatever bubblegum pop song is playing on the radio. She sings along and her smile is so carefree that Bruce’s chest aches because she hasn’t looked at him like that in a long time.

He kisses her instead of giving in to the feeling of anxiety that’s sinking into his blood. 

It doesn’t take long for Betty to manhandle him down onto the couch, and they make love between the layers of clothing that they can’t be bothered to strip out of. Her fingers claw into the back of his neck, and he holds her tight around the waist and pressed up hard against his chest as her hips gyrate. They still don’t speak-- only panting and bitten off moans float between them until he thrusts up hard and they almost tumble onto the floor together. She laughs as he pushes them both over into orgasm, and there’s a small tear in the collar of his shirt that wasn’t there before their encounter.

There are butterflies in his chest as he brushes her sweaty bangs off her forehead, and the whole thing feels foolish. They’ve spent ten years together, three of them in this very living room. Tonight shouldn’t feel any different.

Her fingers flutter over his lips and he tries not to frown. He kisses her fingertips instead, and her smile is watery as she looks up at him. 

*

He knows before she ever even speaks to it that this is the end. They move back into the kitchen, and she’s wrapped around his back as he pulls a carton of ice cream from the freezer and grabs a couple of spoons from the drawer beside the sink. They each get a few mouthfuls in before she murmurs, “It makes me feel crazy, but I don’t know what’s broken and I don’t know how to fix it.”

He licks his lips to make sure that he isn’t sugar sticky before he plants a kiss on her temple. “You shouldn’t have to always feel like there’s something you need to fix.” 

“I mean,” she continues as if Bruce hadn’t spoken, “We’re the perfect couple. We have shared interests as well as individual hobbies, we have our own circles of friends as well as friends that we share. We like spending time together. We make each other laugh. We respect each other. The sex is good. I trust you with my life, you stayed with me when I was sick, I stayed with you when you were writing your thesis and completely lost your mind. I appreciate the things that make you quirky and I respect your privacy and--,”

“And we fight about stupid shit all the time,” he interrupts. He abandons the ice cream on the counter and reels her in by the hips until she’s cradled in his arms. He combs his fingers through her hair carefully as he talks. “Your dad hates me and my friends hate you. You’re a workaholic and I only sporadically take my antidepressants. We’re both too stubborn to compromise. Tony said something bad about you once and I punched him in the face, and I hate that I get aggressive like that when it comes to you. We’ve been only almost happy for a long time, Betty. And you don’t think that’s good enough. And you’re right.”

“Bruce.”

“It isn’t good enough.”

She nods even as she makes a frustrated noise and cries, “But why can’t I figure out how to fix it?”

He doesn’t tell her that it’s probably his fault, that he’s fucked up and broken, and therefore all his relationships are going to be a little off. He doesn’t tell her that he can’t sleep if she’s not beside him because he knows that that’s codependent, unhealthy behaviour and it’d just make her feel guilty. Instead he just shakes his head and keeps her close. He loves her so much. He can’t be the one to tell her that sometimes that isn’t enough.

*

There’s another bottle of wine in the fridge, and Betty uncorks it and grabs two mugs down from the cupboard. “A toast,” she mutters as she pours the wine, Bruce watching her with what can only be resignation. “To knowing when to quit.”

His laughter almost hurts her. “To mutual breakups,” he says as he pulls a mug toward himself.

“To thanking God that we didn’t renew the lease on the house.” And she manages a smile. He nods seriously before taking a big swallow of wine, she follows his lead, and before she knows it what little sobering up she’d managed earlier has been lost. She’s drunk all over again. It’s weird-- he won’t drink with Tony and he won’t drink at bars or restaurants, but when Bruce is with her he’s more than happy to join her in intoxication. 

They stumble upstairs together, and she’s sad, so sad, but she also feels a lot lighter than she did when she showed up earlier. She moves into the master bedroom with the intent to pack up all her things that will fit in her car, but Bruce tackles her to the bed before she can get her luggage out from the closet. He kisses her hungrily, and they roll around on top of the comforter for a while, sneaking fingers under collars and sleeves, before eventually quieting down. When she moves to get up, he doesn’t stop her.  

“Are you staying at your dad’s?” he asks her as she moves into the closet and starts pulling some of her sweaters off their hangers.

“Of course not,” she answers him, indignant. “You think I run home to daddy every time we get into a fight? No, I’m staying down at the Super 8.”

“Betty--,”

“No, I’m not giving him another reason to tell me ‘I told you so’.”

Bruce watches the ceiling for a while before speaking up again. “You don’t have to move out. You can stay here; I’ll go stay at Tony’s for a while until we can sort everything out.”

“No,” Betty says again, firmly. “I don’t want to be here if you’re not here. This was  _ our  _ house. I wouldn’t feel comfortable in it if it was only me.”

“And you think I will?”

“I think you’re uncomfortable enough most of the time that it might not make that much of a difference.” There’s a heavy silence between them for a drawn out second, and then Betty sighs and sticks her head out of the closet to look at him. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs as she folds up a cardigan. “I didn’t mean for it to sound mean like that. I don’t  _ want  _ you to feel uncomfortable, I just--,”

“I know.”

There’s silence again as she slinks back into the closet and keeps collecting her things, but there’s been silence building up between them for a long time now. Somewhere along the lines of their relationship, they forgot how to communicate with each other. The sex was good and the love was their but if they weren’t arguing then they weren’t really talking to each other. And yet. Breaking up hadn’t really ever crossed Bruce’s mind until she’d ghosted her way back into the kitchen earlier. Until after they’d had sex and everything still wasn’t okay, just like every other time that this had happened. Until after Betty had confessed to something being  _ broken _ . 

The thing is, he doesn’t want her to leave. He wants to wake up tomorrow wrapped around her. He closes his eyes and pretends that he’s in a nightmare, and when he opened his eyes next she’s hovering around the bedside table. Her hands are hanging by her sides and she looks so lost. He feels the same way.

“You’re still my best friend, Bruce. And I want you to call me if you need anything, okay? Help with rent or someone to edit your papers or. Or someone to talk to or. Just. Anything. Okay? Anything at all.”

He nods at her, and she sucks in a deep breath before leaning over the side of the bed and kissing him soft on the mouth. “I love you,” he murmurs, and he thinks he should be breaking right apart, but he isn’t. He’s just sad.

“I love you too.” She drags her fingers through his hair, then touches his face so gently. “I better go. I’ve got, uh, a, I’ve got a sandwich in the car and I should. Go.”

And then she’s gone, whisking down the stairs and out the front door with a single, final click of the deadbolt. Bruce lays there for a moment longer before sitting up and picking up the ring on the nightstand. It’s still warm from her skin, and he closes his palm around it and just breathes. Downstairs in the drawer underneath the drawer that has all the kitchen cutlery, there is a stack of wedding invitations tied together with an elastic band. He’s glad they never got mailed; breaking the news to his friends would have been awkward. As it is, there’s no pressure. No one even knew they were engaged.

He’s not sure anyone would have believed it, even if they did. And Tony and Clint probably would have taken bets on when the wedding would be cancelled. But it doesn’t matter now.

He closes his eyes. His clothes smell like her. He won’t be getting any sleep tonight. He thinks maybe he won’t be getting any sleep ever again. All he feels is sad. He thinks about calling her, but she only just left and that might be pushing it a little. So he just lays back down, the ring still in his hand, and he closes his eyes. And he breathes.


End file.
